Thursday, January 28, 2016

A Hookup with the Closeted Egyptian Professor

Bloomington, April 1984

 I heard a lot about Samir before I actually met him. It seemed that everyone on campus had dated him, or was dating him now.

"A professor of political science," Mark the Optometrist said.  "He's published a ton of books!"

"Thick, thick biceps!" Roy the Farmboy said.  "I don't know where he works out, but believe me, it's working!"

"He's famous!" Jimmy, the Bodybuilder on Crutches, said "The State Department calls him for advice!"

"Total active, mostly Greek," Mark's ex-boyfriend Shaun said.  "And ---"  He spread his hands wide to demonstrate Samir's sausage size.

I had to meet this guy!

"Do you mind if I ask him out?" I asked Shaun.

"Sure, go ahead.  But I don't have his number.  You don't call him -- he calls you!"

Have you ever heard of anything so cool?

I dropped by the Political Science Department, looked up his office hours -- and chickened out.

One day Roy the Farmboy and I were walking down 3rd Street, at the edge of the campus, when we passed an older guy, in his 40s, tall, barrel-chested, olive-skinned, with black hair, sharp features, and a short-cropped black beard,  Very formal, very European, in a dark business suit, carrying a leather briefcase, a newspaper under his arm.

I smiled instinctively.  He gave me a cool look of non-recognition and pushed on.

Roy nudged me.  "That was Samir, my ex-boyfriend."

This was the famous Samir?  "Why didn't you say hello?  He acted like he didn't know you."

"He always does that in public. He's a professor."

"Really?  That's a little weird."   In the 1980s all gay professors at Indiana University were closeted: if the administration found out, they would be fired instantly.  So they refused to research gay topics, they invited lady friends to faculty functions, they avoided Bullwinkle's, our local gay bar -- but refusing to acknowledge your gay friends in public was extreme!

The next day Roy called me.  "You were a big hit with Samir."

"You're kidding -- he saw me for like ten seconds."

"No -- he was impressed.  He asked me to set up a meeting at the Fireside in Indianapolis next Friday night."

Indianapolis was quite a long way to drive for a blind date, but I was intrigued.  I asked Viju to come along.

The Fireside was one of those old-fashioned "romantic" restaurants, with bare bricks, dark wood furniture, and very dim lights, so you could barely see who you were talking to.

I know a dark, secluded place, a place where no one knows your face!

Samir was sitting at a table -- in a sweater and jeans, not a business suit, but still very formal -- with a woman!  He introduced her as his friend Emily.


A date an hour away from Indianapolis, with a "beard"!  Talk about closeted!

 We shook hands, and he offered us red wine.  We asked for Cokes instead.

"I'd love to hear about your research," I said.  "It must be fascinating..."

His eyes shot about the room.  "We must not discuss our work here.  Enough to know that we are both at the University."

What was wrong with talking about your job on a date?  "So, where are you from?" Viju asked.

"Originally I am from Egypt, but I lived in London for some time, and I have been in the U.S. for eight years."

"I love the Middle East!" I exclaimed.  "I'm in first year Arabic now.  I had my first sexual experience with a boy from Lebanon."

His eyes shot about the room again.  "Please, we don't discuss sex here.  And at any rate, Egypt is not strictly in the Middle East.  It is the Maghreb."

This date wasn't going well.  "I thought Muslims didn't drink," Viju said gesturing at his wine glass.

"Another misconception.  About 30% of the people in Egypt are Coptic Christians, myself included."

Um...ok, this guy was a little harsh.  "Do you find it hard to reconcile your Coptic faith with being gay?"

Again, eyes shooting about the room. "Please, I am not out."

What did half my friends see in this guy?

We had dinner -- Samir paid -- and excused ourselves to go cruising at the Varsity Lounge.

A few days Samir called.  "It was very pleasant getting to know you the other night.  Would you come over this evening?  We can discuss the Middle East.  I have some books in Arabic that you might like."

After the frosty experience at dinner, I was hesitant, but ok.

When we were alone in his house, Samir was a different person altogether -- smiling, effervescent, loquacious.

He served homemade basboosa (a sort of cornbread with honey).

He showed me some Egyptian movie magazines, and an Arabic translation of Tom Sawyer that he had since he was a boy.

He talked about growing up in the Ain Shams district of Cairo, sneaking into movies with beefcake stars, his first sexual experience with his boarding-school roommate, coming out to his elderly grandmother.

We kissed while listening to a record of whiny Egyptian pop stars.  He had a very hard, very hairy chest and very, very thick biceps.

Then we went into the bedroom, where I went down on his very thick Bratwurst.  He tried to get me to turn over for anal.  When I refused, he said "It doesn't matter.  Just being with a man is what counts, don't you think?"

Afterwards Samir held me tightly in his arms all night, letting go only when I had to get up for the bathroom.

I left in the morning with my head spinning, swooning with infatuation.  This was the guy I had always hoped to meet!

So I dropped by the Political Science Department around noon, hoping to ask him to lunch.

He passed me in the hall with a cool look of non-recognition.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

The Zoroastrian Who Did It Six Times a Day

Delhi, India, June 1984

During the summer of 1984, just after we got our M.A. degrees in English, my friend Viju invited me to visit his family in India for two weeks.

Except for trips to Agra and Varanasi, we spent most of our time in Delhi, hanging out with his parents, sister Aruna, and old university friends, We went to a bodybuilding competition, a lot of shopping malls, and since I was interested in religion, a lot of temples and mosques.

There were no gay bars, bathhouses, community centers, or gay organizations  in India, but there was a lot of public sex in Jahanpanah City Forest.  You saw a guy you liked, nodded, and followed him into the bushes.

Viju said that it was perfectly safe: although "sodomy" was technically illegal,  the police didn't believe that it existed in India, so they didn't patrol.

I was a little hesitant, but when a tall, slim, very dark skinned guy in his 30s smiled at me, Viju whispered "Go for it!"  I followed him into a little copse, where he was already unzipped and aroused, his dark Bratwurst with a thick mushroom head a striking contrast to his white pants.  As I went down on him, I felt his hard muscular chest under his shirt, then moved around and grabbed his butt.  He groaned.

A moment later, he finished with a shudder, then pulled me to my feet and drew me into a kiss.  "My name is Arshad.  You are an American, yes?"

"Right.  I'm here visiting my friend."

"I guessed that.  I love American boys -- you have an energy, an excitement."  I felt him becoming aroused again.  "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

"I'll have to ask if Viju has plans for us..."

"Invite him along, too.  The Host at 8:00?  But first, if you're not too tired..."

He pushed me to my knees again.  This time took a little longer, but not much.  Three or four minutes, and he groaned and shuddered and thrust deeply into my throat.

The Host turned out to be a very bright, airy, and expensive restaurant on Connaught Circus, about a half hour by car from Viju's house.

Arshad arrived with a date for Viju: Noel, slim, redheaded, with a British accent.  They were coworkers at an engineering firm.

"But originally I am from Ahmedabad, in Gujarat," Arshad told us.  "A Parsi.  Have you heard of us?" .

Parsis -- Zoroastrians!  The ancient monotheistic religion that competed with Christianity in the first and second centuries.  Ahura Mazda and Ahriman, light and darkness, order and chaos.   The Avestas.  Zarathustra.  Fire temples!

"You are very intelligent as well as handsome," Arshad said, cutting me off.

"Boomer is very interested  in religion," Viju said.  "Me, not much.  I look toward the future, not the past."  He grabbed Noel's hand -- or crotch, I couldn't tell -- under the table.

"Then you must let me take you on a tour of the spiritual sites of Delhi.  I will take tomorrow off from work.  There are temples for Hindus, Sikhs, Jains, Baha'is..."

"Christian churches, mosques..."  Noel added.

"A Zoroastrian fire temple?" I asked eagerly.

"Of course, of course," Arshad said, looking down at the menu.  "We will tour that as well."

 We finished the evening at Arshad's apartment.  Noel and Viju took the guest room, and Arshad brought me into the master bedroom, where I went down on him four more times, with kissing in between.

Six times in one day!  My jaw ached, and my throat hurt from the constant banging.   Yet Arshad never touched me beneath the belt.

Oh, well, at least tomorrow I would see a Zoroastrian fire temple.

After breakfast -- and two more throat-bangings  -- Noel and Viju left, and Arshad drove me out to Ahinsa Sthal, about a half-hour drive south of his apartment.  Sacred to Jainism, with a 13-foot statue of Mahavira.

That was impressive.

Then another half-hour drive east to the Lotus Temple, sacred to the Baha'i religion.

Ok, but what about the Fire Temple?

Back into town, 30 minutes north to the Jama Masjid, a huge mosque.

I already saw it, but ok, I didn't mind seeing it again.

Back to Arshan's apartment for lunch and another bedroom session.  Twice in ten minutes!

Ok, my jaw is sore.  What about the Fire Temple?

Another 30 minutes around Connaught Circus to the Lakshi Narayan Mandir, a Hindu temple that I had already visited.

It was late afternoon.  We had been reverent all day.  I was getting "church fatigue."  Not to mention "jaw fatigue."  Who would ever have thought that you could get tired of oral sex?

"Next the Sacred Heart Cathedral" Arshad said. "It's only a few blocks from here."

Interesting, but I had seen Catholic churches before.

"Could we go to the Fire Temple now?  It's getting late."

He looked away.  "Sure, sure, I suppose.  It's only a few blocks away."

We got into his car and drove east on Nehru Boulevard.  Just past a gigantic hospital complex, we turned right on Bahadur Shah Road.

"The Parsi Anjuman is there on the left," Arshad said as we zipped by.

It was a small, square building with a pillared portico and some vaguely Babylonian fretwork.

"Hey, aren't we going to stop?"

"Oh, there's nothing much to see inside.  And I'm getting hungry.  Shall we have dinner?"

"Hey, what gives?  We spend all day touring the sacred sites of Jains, Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Bahai's, and Christians, but when it comes to your own religion, you zoom past at 80 miles an hour."

"Sorry.  But...it's just that..."  He stroked my knee.  "One who is unclean may not enter the temple."

"Non-believers?  That's ok, I don't mind not going in."

"Not you -- me.  I'm unclean. I'm the one who has spilled his seed.  My religion teaches that those who do such things are like dogs, filthy beasts."

I looked at Arshad.  Did he actually believe that nonsense, think of himself as a filthy beast?  It was hard to tell.  "Well...my childhood religion, the Nazarenes, have some crazy beliefs, too.  I suppose I wouldn't want to give you a tour of the their church either."

But still, the "filthy beast" statement made me feel uncomfortable.  After dinner, I refused another bedroom session, and asked Arshad drop me off at Viju's house.  We exchanged addresses, but didn't write.

Modern Zoroastrians seem to be more accepting of gay people, at least in the U.S.  I saw an article on a gay Christian-Zoroastrian wedding held at the chapel of Northwestern University.

See also: 20 Preacher Penises; a Bodybuilding Contest in India

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Yuri Lands the Coffee Drinker I Was Cruising

Wilton Manors, February 8th, 2002

The Filling Station was my favorite bar in Wilton Manors: three blocks from my house, good burgers and fries, a good mix of bears, regular guys, twinks, and drag queens.  I usually got there at 9:00 pm, just as it was starting to get crowded, but that Friday night in February, I was meeting a date there at 7:00.  

The bar was practically deserted: a bartender, a leatherman eating a hamburger, two giggling twinks, the elegantly dressed old guy who is a fixture at every bar.  I sat down at the bar and ordered a Coke.

Then I saw the Coffee Drinker walking across the dance floor from the dj booth.

He was in his 30s, short, pale, solid with South Florida muscle, strikingly handsome, with a baby face and heavy-lidded sleepy eyes, wearing a white t-shirt that showed his nipples, a beige jacket, and slacks.  And he was holding a large white coffee cup.

There's something indescribably sexy about a guy drinking coffee in a bar.  How did he even know that they served coffee?  Or was it just for him, from a pot brewing in the back room?   He must have access to secret special places.  Maybe he lived in the bar, and was just climbing out of bed. Maybe he was the manager.

As I watched, Coffee Drinker made a slow, careful circuit of the entire bar, occasionally taking a sip from his cup with both hands, as if he was cold. Was he ever going to stop?

Two circuits.  Then my date arrived.  I pointed out the Coffee Drinker.  We speculated on who would be drinking coffee in a bar, and then went on to dinner.

February 13th.

I dropped in the bar on Saturday, but the Coffee Drinker wasn't there.  The next popular night was Wednesday, bear night.  I arrived at 7:00, and sure enough, the Coffee Drinker was making a long, slow circuit of the bar, never stopping, never interacting with anyone, occasionally sipping from his cup.

Two circuits.  Three.  Was he ever going to stop so I could draw him into a conversation?

I headed for the bathroom, timing myself to meet him, and gave him a smile and nod of recognition.  He glared.

What was with this guy?







February 15th.

Friday night at 7:00 pm.  The Coffee Drinker was making his usual slow circuit. 

He had seen me twice, so certainly we were "bar friends" who could say hello and even hug without cruising.  I began a circuit that intersected with him, and as we passed, gave him a friendly shoulder grab without making eye contact, a sort of bar "hello."

Coffee Drinker shrugged me off with a vicious glare.

What was with this guy?  


February 20th.

I guessed that the Coffee Drinker came to the Filling Station on Wednesday and Friday nights.  Sure enough, on Friday the 20th, 7:00 pm, he was there, making his usual circuit.  

I ordered coffee at the bar -- yes, they served it, but the bartender wasn't happy, since he had to walk all the way out to the kitchen to fetch it.  

Coffee in hand, I walked in the same direction as Coffee Drinker, caught up with him, and said "Look, we match."

He glared at me.

"Hi, my name is Boomer.  Slow night tonight."

"I'm not interested in a relationship."

"Relationship?  But I just..."

He turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction.


February 27th

Ok, I should have just given up, but he was cute AND a mystery.  Tonight I brought my ex-boyfriend Matt the Security Guard, so the Coffee Drinker would think we were on a date, and not think I was cruising him.

We got our coffees and stood by the DJ booth, arms around each other, waiting for the Coffee Drinker to make his circuit past us.

When he saw us, he turned the other way, and began making U-shaped circuits that avoided the DJ booth.

Enough was enough!

I stopped going to the Filling Station early, and forgot about the Coffee Drinker.



April 24th, 2002

A Wednesday night, two months later.  My housemate Yuri called about 7:30.

"Guess what -- I went to your bar, the Filling Station, and I met someone.  Will you be home?"

In West Hollywood and New York, inviting someone you just met into your bed was rare and frowned upon -- you waited four or five days, and then went out on a date.  In Florida it was still uncommon, but ok, as long as you did something social first -- making it into an instant date -- and invited a friend along, or at least gave a friend his contact information.  Being alone with a stranger was a good way to get robbed or assaulted.  

"Sure.  Do I get to watch or share?"



"Watch, sure.  Maybe share -- I will ask.  Did you eat dinner?  We can get Chinese food."

"I already ate, but I wouldn't say no to some kung pao chicken."

About half an hour later, Yuri came in, carrying a bag from the Lotus Kitchen -- followed by the Coffee Drinker.  Real name: Sidney.

No big mystery -- he drank coffee because he was a recovering alcoholic.  And he gave me Attitude because he thought I wanted a hookup.     

But he was fine with sharing.

Hairy chest, average beneath-the-belt gifts, uncut, mostly an anal top, although I got to go down on him a little.  He wasn't much of a cuddler afterwards, and he wouldn't kiss.  And a little weird.  Yuri didn't see him again.

See also: Matt the Security Guard.

L

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